Birds

I love the morning light here in Petworth. I have a ring side seat every day, sitting as I do in our turret overlooking the main square. The clock on the town hall is my time-keeper, the gold leaf hands passing over the wedgewood blue face, slowly illuminated by the rising sun.

Living in a tall house, we have the advantage of a bird’s eye view. We share our space with jackdaws and pigeons, sparrows and house martins. It is a bird’s world up here. I watch them swooping and nesting, feeding and fledging. I feel priviledged to share their space.

I love birds - they’re full of character and I delight in their presence. When a few summers back we erected a bird feeder on our roof terrace, our first guest was a green woodpecker.  I haven’t seen him since, but I was touched that Woody had welcomed us - that being my husband’s nickname of old.

I had to move the feeder twice due to the clumsy attempts of the local pigeons to gorge themselves. I couldn’t work out why my little conifers beneath were flattened until I spied a fat pigeon squatting patiently below the feeder awaiting his turn.

But this was nothing compared to my husband’s pigeon experience. Chris’s office is in the building opposite our house and looks directly onto our roof terrace. One windy day he looked up from his accounting to see a pigeon land in a most ungainly fashion on the weather vane that tops off our roof. 

As the pigeon scrabbled for a foothold, the wind caught the weather vane and sent it spinning round. The pigeon started to flap his wings, trying to maintain his balance. The faster he flapped, the faster the arm went round, sending him in ever increasing circles,  until he tumbled off and rolled down the roof, disappearing from sight.

Anyone who knows Chris can imagine his retelling of this story, complete with actions and sound effects. I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants!

Black Clouds

Talking of black clouds, I suffered from depression once. Now you know the expression “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy”? Well that’s how I feel about depression.

Mine sort of crept up on me due to a combination of circumstances including the break up of my marriage, the terminal illness of a very dear friend and the discovery that my mum had breast cancer. You could say that life had got too much for me.

I consider myself fairly resilient. I test myself every now and again, have done since I was a child: Imagine a situation (ranging from the loss of a favourite toy, via parents divorcing to the death of a loved one). Could I survive it? Yes.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. Depression is familiar to many of us these days. You’ll know what I’m talking about then. 

Mine manifested in the beginning with uncontrollable tears (no surprise there then!); an inability to deal with the smallest situation; a fear of going to sleep; loss of appetite; terrible black thoughts; a desperate feeling of isolation.

I managed to work through all but the worst few weeks - my bloody mindedness and pride driving me on when my whole being was crying out to stop. It’s amazing how blind we can be to the blaring messages our body sends us.

I finally admitted defeat after a tortuous management meeting where I sat still and big eyed trying to give the appearance of normality and failing miserably (excuse the pun). Having informed personnel of my mental breakdown (try that one for scary), I made my way to the bus stop. As I stood waiting, it was as if my skin had been flayed off. Every noise, every movement was like a relentless barrage on my senses. I had no defence.

I was forced at last to ask for help - from my husband, from my son, from everyone. I was helpless. In my darkest moments I wallowed in a black pit, too deep and slippery to ever climb out of.

But I did. With the help of those around me and a brilliant man - Dr James Hawkins - I did. One step at a time, that’s all. Just one step at a time. Sounds easy, huh? To begin with I had to consciously move forward, every few minutes reminding myself of how to act, what to think. But as time went on it became less often and there were times when I forgot about where I’d been. (oh blessed relief)

I don’t believe I would have come through this experience having learnt so much if it hadn’t been for Dr Hawkins. My GP suggested he refer me to him when the anti depressants I’d been prescribed were making me more crazy, not less.

At our first meeting he asked me what I wanted to get out of our time together. “I want to feel at peace”, was my reply. 

How many of you have had therapy? Then you know just how much courage it takes. It is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done...I’d recommend it to everyone! It’s not a comfortable place to be - in front of yourself, looking at who you really are. But by God did I sort out a lot of stuff.

I liken therapy to peeling off the layers of an onion. The outside layers are quite easy - toughened, familiar. Then we get to the first of the juice. That makes your eyes water. And as you peel closer to the centre it often gets so unbearable that you have to stop. 

But boy was it worth it. Dr Hawkins gave me the tools to cope with life. Information is king they say, and it’s true. The more knowledge we have the more conscious our choices become, and that has to be a good thing.

I recovered from my depression. My friend died, my mum died, my life was changed forever. But I survived. Just as I said I would.